


we might be hollow but we're brave

by groundopenwide



Category: Catfish: The TV Show
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mentions of past drug abuse, Pre-Series, very brief mention of infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2035506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It reminded him of a night not so long ago, a damaged Nev and a floundering Max and an old sofa, the two of them stumbling their way back to some undefinable “normal.” That had been a beginning. This was a beginning, too, more of a restart than anything. A second chance to be Nev and Max, whatever that entailed.</i>
</p>
<p>Their relationship never made much sense, not to them or anyone else, but it seemed inevitable that it was always going to be <i>Nev and Max</i>. It just took awhile for the two of them to realize it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we might be hollow but we're brave

**Author's Note:**

> OH LOOK IT'S THE FIC THAT'S BEEN RUINING MY LIFE FOR THE PAST THREE WEEKS. or should i say nev/max has been ruining my life? that's probably more accurate. i just really really love them and i wanted to write about them but i sort of bit off more than i could chew with this fic so it took forever. anyway, it's done now! yay!
> 
> this fic was inspired by a couple of things: a) in the introductory videos that are posted on max's youtube channel, nev talks about how he suffered a bit of a breakdown when he was younger, so that was the initial spark that started this; b) in max's introduction, he mentions how he grew up with rel and nev in new york, so there's that; and then c) in the s2 episode "dorian & jeszica" nev says something along the lines of, _"you can't decide who you're going to be in love with...there sort of comes a point where you just know."_ toss these three things into a blender, and ta-da, this fic was born.
> 
> although elements of this ARE based on fact, i took a lot of them to extremes. i'm not claiming any of this to be true whatsoever. also, let's just conveniently pretend that pri and shanee don't exist. cool. 
> 
> title taken from lorde's _400 lux._

Max remembers being younger, a bit more naive and bright-eyed, not quite as cynical, but just as grey at the scalp. He remembers staring at Nev- _Rel’s little brother_ at the time- and thinking, _this kid is all kinds of fucked up._ He remembers the stories of the dropping out of school and the getting kickedout of school and he remembers firsthand the breakdown, the rehab, all of the times that Rel would show up looking exhausted and frustrated with dark bags under his eyes as he mumbled _Nev’s checked in again_ or _withdrawals_ or _I can’t do this anymore, Max._

And more importantly, he remembers two months in, third time around, when Nev checked himself out of the local center and showed up at Max’s door. Head lowered, arms folded around himself protectively, hollowed-out cheeks and empty gaze. _I don’t have anywhere else to go,_ he’d admitted quietly, and that had been the day _Rel’s little brother_ became _Nev,_ broken and battered but still strong and optimistic and intellectual and so many other things.

Max wasn’t expecting to turn into that guy, the one who suddenly feels bad for the younger sibling and thus starts spending time with them. But after an entire night spent consoling a tearful, trembling Nev Schulman on his couch and reassuring him that _he could get better_ and _he could make it through this,_ the sympathy thing wasn’t one he could just ignore. Ariel did his best, their parents did their best, but what Nev really needed was a friend. So that’s what Max became.

He drove Nev back to the clinic the following morning, leaving him with a clap on the shoulder, a promise to come and visit at least once a week, and more importantly, a promise to _not tell Ariel._

_I don’t need to worry him anymore than I already have,_ Nev mumbled.

It felt a lot like betrayal, swearing his loyalty to Nev when Rel was one of his oldest friends. This was something Rel had the right to know immediately- _your brother skipped out on rehab._ But for some reason, in that moment, it had seemed so much more important to give Nev _something,_ just to lessen a few of the creases around his mouth and soften the pain in his eyes.

Each Wednesday after that, like clockwork, Max would check in at the visitor's desk and then spend the minutes between eleven thirty and one o'clock in Nev's company. Some days, he'd bring his camera, and they would jokingly record an update on Nev's mental state, little tidbits that shaped up to sound a lot like Facebook updates- _the weather is dampening my mood a bit today,_ or _spent a successful afternoon learning how to knit with an ex-meth addict and a member of Hell's Angels, I'm making friends!_ There were still bad days (terrible ones, where Nev would be shaky and panicked and wide-eyed, the epitome of the word _junkie_ , so much so that Max felt the need to run far, far away) but slowly, surely, it was obvious that Nev _was_ getting better.

The smile didn't just curl at his lips any more, a harsh mockery of what a real smile should be. It actually extended into his eyes and his cheeks and the rest of his being. His skin was less pale, finally a flushed color that read _healthy_ and _alive._ He began to put on muscle- still lean, but no longer bony and fragile and about to break. Max had watched the changes unfold right before his own eyes, and the entire time, he couldn't keep the swell of pride that blossomed in his chest. He'd told Nev he could do it. He'd known it from the start.

Four months later, when Nev was at last clean, the kind of clean that seemed like it might actually stick, Max was there to collect him and his one lone duffel bag of belongings. Nev greeted him with the brightest grin, one that etched itself onto the planes of his face and into every corner of Max’s insides, and it made Max glad he’d brought his camera, just to capture the moment and always remember that look. The one that said, _I couldn’t have done this without you._

“I needed someone to believe in me. _Really_ believe in me,” Nev told him later, when they were holed up on Max’s couch and eating chowmein out of the carton. “You always did.”

Until that point, Max had assumed that as soon as Nev was through and finished with his recovery, this...strange connection between them would vanish, and Nev would go back to being the younger sibling, a timid acquaintance and nothing more. It wouldn’t make much sense for him to hang around Max, anyway. Not only was he younger, but he wasn’t jaded and bitter like Max- Nev was one of those people who strove to see the best in others, to believe in things bigger than himself. He was hopeful to the point where it became a fault, because hope was what left you bruised and shattered into a million tiny, miniscule pieces on the floor (Max would know).

But it was also that hope that drew people in. Nev glistened like a beacon in the darkest depths of night, the center of a solar system that had others orbiting around him against their own will. Max had suddenly become one of those people. He wasn’t sure how, or when, but the pull of gravity had grown so strong that he was plummeting down, down, down, into the chaotic, dazzling light that was _Nev._ And what terrified him more was that he didn’t even seem to mind.

So he stuck around. If he was with Rel, then Nev wasn’t merely there as the ‘little brother’ anymore, but as an equal, one who taunted Max for his grey hair and his aversion to flip flops. There were times where Rel would shoot him an imploring look- _since when are you two even friends?_ \- but Max didn’t see much use in trying to explain the unexplainable. There wasn’t any rhyme or reason to it. He and Nev just _fit._

And then Max was offered a directing job in Los Angeles, and all at once, they didn’t seem to fit so well anymore.

Nev had become occupied with his photography and the dance community, and with work being slow in the city for him, Max decided, _why the hell not?_ He left New York on a freezing, snow-packed morning and arrived to sunny skies and seventy degree temperatures in Los Angeles, and all in all, it was miserable.

He and Rel spoke plenty, mostly about their respective jobs but also about the latest independent films and the usual crap that had cemented their friendship in the first place. Nev would call fairly often at first, too, but they always seemed to be missing each other. Nev was off on a shoot or Max was picking up lunch or one of a million other excuses, and eventually the calls began to dwindle, until they were all but nonexistent.  If anyone were to ask why both of them just...stopped trying, Max probably wouldn’t have an answer. As much as he’d like to cut it down to the two of them being busy, he knew that couldn’t have been the case.

Either way, when the initial job ended, Max decided he’d stay in California, search for another one. And another, and another, and soon enough, it became hard to remember what New York even looked like.

(But not Nev- never Nev. Max could catalogue every single detail about Nev in a split-second thought, and that scared him; perhaps it even scared him into staying).

Two months into his third job in LA,  he received a call from an unknown Michigan phone number, and the irony of the timing wasn’t at all lost on him.  When he picked up and muttered _hello_ into the receiver, it was as though fate had already told him who was waiting on the other end of the line.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” Nev had said. His voice was nearly monotone, and the sound wrapped itself around Max’s heart and _squeezed,_ harsh, a painful vice. He tried desperately to ignore the fact that this was the first time he’d heard Nev’s voice in months, only to have it sound utterly defeated, so unlike the Nev he'd been accustomed to.

“Where are you calling me from?” Max questioned softly.

“A diner in Ishpeming. Michigan,” Nev added. It was silent for a long moment. A beat later, he spoke again. “She wasn’t real, Max. I was in love with her and she wasn’t even real.”

At the crack in Nev’s voice, Max had to shut his eyes. The hand that wasn’t holding his phone curled into a loose fist, and he pressed it against his left eyelid, dug in. This had been the problem all along- Nev hoped too much, loved too fast, too violently. It left him weakened and vulnerable, a panel of glass just waiting for the next person to come along and deal another blow, scatter him into a cloud of transparent shards.

“Rel and Henry keep shoving the camera into my face, wanting to get it all for the film, and I just- I didn’t know who else to call,” Nev repeated quietly.

It had been a year. And Max had so, so many questions, starting with _who was this girl_ and _what do you mean, not real_ and _what film_ and _why did you stop calling?_ Yet he didn’t allow a single one to escape his mouth. There would be time for questions later, after he’d helped to glue Nev back together, piece by piece. This wasn’t the first time, and he knew this wouldn’t be the last time he’d have to do it, either.

“I’m going to book the next flight out to JFK,” Max responded. His fingers pressed roughly into his temples, and he sucked down the shaky breath that threatened to slip from his lips. “When are you guys due back?”

“Tomorrow night.” He could hear Nev’s breathing on the other end of the line, ragged and forced. “Max, I-”

Max shushed him and stood up, already going in search of his laptop so that he could pull up the latest airfares. “I’m always here, Nev,” he reassured him. “Always.”

He flew out the following morning and was already waiting in Nev and Rel’s shared apartment when they finally arrived close to midnight. Neither of them appeared to be surprised to see him when they walked in and spotted him on the sofa- mostly, they just seemed exhausted, stretched too thin, and for a moment, Max was at a loss. Was he supposed to comfort both of them? What was there to even say? _Hey, I’m back because of Nev’s imaginary girlfriend?_

Thankfully, Rel saved him from his internal debate by giving a brief nod of his head and then disappearing into his bedroom, the _click_ of the door shutting echoing loudly through the apartment. And just like that, it was Nev and Max.

Something shifted inside of Max’s chest, clicking into place.

“How long have you been here?” Nev asked in greeting. He dumped his bags next to the breakfast bar and began to toe off his shoes, and Max just watched him, taking in the person Nev had become over the past year. Same shaggy haircut, same tall, thin frame. Same softened glow that made him _Nev,_ but a bit dimmer, diluted in a way that had Max’s heart splintering and cracking open.

_How could someone do this to you?_

When Nev eventually lifted his head and caught Max amidst his staring, he didn’t even raise an eyebrow. Instead, he merely blinked over with bloodshot eyes and a defeated expression that was decorated with too much stubble, the obvious result of sadness and frustration and laziness all rolled into one.

“A couple of hours,” Max forced himself to reply. He was still sitting, and Nev was still hovering five feet away, radiating heartbreak and sucking all of the air out of the room. “Are you hungry? There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.”

Nev shook his head stiffly, but then he was walking over and taking a seat at the opposite end of the couch, so Max considered that progress. He sat robotically, feet planted on the floor and palms resting on his knees. Max had the insane urge to reach out, rub some of the tension from Nev’s shoulders.

“Wasn’t sure you’d actually be here,” Nev confessed, a bit guiltily.

_I told you, always._

“I’m not sure why I left to begin with,” Max replied. “California was boring. Too hot.” _And lonely._

Nev didn’t smile, though his eyes did seem to fill with something, an emotion flickering across an empty void.

“Thanks for coming,” he stated, and just like that, the entire story came pouring out.

How Nev had received a painting, a replica of one of his photos from a little girl named Abby. How Abby had a half-sister named Megan. How Megan was actually Angela, Abby’s mother. The real Megan was in rehab, and she and Nev had never spoken. Abby was real, but she never painted; that had been Angela, who also had two mentally ill stepsons, and a husband to boot.

How Nev had felt a real connection with Megan, only for the entire thing to turn out to be some kind of sick joke played by the universe.

“I’ve never felt so...used,” Nev murmured. “So stupid. I keep wondering how I couldn’t see it.”

_Blinded by love,_ Max thought bitterly, almost angrily. _Always too hopeful for your own damn good. This is what hope gets you: pain. Disappointment._

But he said nothing of the sort. What came out instead was, “when you want something that badly...sometimes you manage to convince yourself that you already have it.”

Nev said nothing more. His eyes were dark in the hushed light that came from the lamp in the corner, and the air surrounding them had the kind of stillness that only came at two o’clock in the morning. Everything about the moment felt heavy, from the conversation to the breeze blowing in through the open window to the weight in Max’s chest.

It reminded him of a night not so long ago, a damaged Nev and a floundering Max and an old sofa, the two of them stumbling their way back to some undefinable “normal.” That had been a beginning. This was a beginning, too, more of a restart than anything. A second chance to be _Nev and Max,_ whatever that entailed.

Things weren’t exactly the same after that, but Max wasn’t expecting them to be. Nev had been knocked down, and it was going to take awhile for him to get back up. Max flew back out to Los Angeles only long enough to quit his current project and pack up his things. Rel and Henry started edits on the footage they’d collected, and Max kept Nev company when he refused to sit down with them and relive all the time he’d wasted on Angela.

But that was the other thing- for as upset as Nev was, he didn’t seem to view the experience as a _waste._ He had taken it and molded it to his own use, was almost better off because it. A bit more cautious, but he’d also gained a better understanding of insecurity and what it meant for most people, how it led them to wallow or question or act out.

Witnessing Nev process the situation was like following him through his recovery all over again, a swatch of deja vu. Except Nev was even stronger this time around- he’d fallen but righted himself quickly, dusted himself off, and moved on. There were moments where the mask would fall and Max could see it, the tiniest glint of hurt and loss in Nev’s eyes, but those moments were few and far between. So scarce, in fact, that if one ignored the fact that it was being turned into a _documentary,_ it was almost like Megan-slash-Angela had never happened.

(It did worry Max, sometimes, how fast the entire thing seemed to disappear. He knew what avoidance looked like, and even more so, he knew denial, and he couldn’t help but worry that Nev was resorting to both, that maybe he wasn’t really “okay” at all.)

He never asked, though. Max had never been good at emotional talks; he was just the guy who was good as the distraction, the one to go shoot hoops or watch _Seinfeld_ re-runs with in order to get your mind off of things. And he and Nev did all sorts of things together- daily jogs through Central Park, late night food runs, afternoons simply spent wandering the streets with their respective cameras.

With each day they spent together, Max found himself spiralling further and further into the Nev vortex (he’d finally decided on a name; it was at least slightly less cheesy than saying he’d been hit with _the Nev effect._ ) It wasn’t long before being away from Nev felt uncomfortable, unnatural- a day without seeing his smile and hearing his always-upbeat voice left Max with skin that was suddenly too tight and a rhythmic pounding in his skull. He needed Nev like he was the oxygen meant to fill his deprived lungs, and that couldn’t be normal. Not at all.

It was a Saturday morning, and Max hadn’t even been in the apartment ten minutes. He’d arrived to find Nev in the shower while Rel sat calmly at the breakfast bar, reading the newspaper. They’d greeted each other, and then Max had poured himself a cup of coffee. A normal chain of events.

“Are you fucking my little brother?”

Now the coffee was crawling up the back of his throat, and Max had to swallow forcefully to keep himself from spitting it out all over the countertop.

“What the _hell?_ ” he practically yelled. “What kind of question is that, Rel?”

“A valid one,” Rel answered, without looking up from the sports section. There was no inflection in his tone, and Max was able to recognize even through his shock what that meant- Rel was pissed.

“I’m not sleeping with Nev,” Max scrambled to defend himself. “I never _have_ slept with him _._ I can’t believe you would ask me that.”

“Look, Max-” At last, Rel looked up, but his eyes were narrowed. “I don’t need an explanation. I’m just saying that it would have been nice if you’d maybe thought to inform me, _oh yeah, by the way, I’m sleeping with your baby brother._ ”

“Fucking hell- I swear, Nev and I, it’s nothing. We’re _friends,_ ” he loaded all the emphasis he could onto the word, hoping that maybe, _maybe,_ it would diffuse the situation.

“You’re together all the time!” Rel exclaimed. “A couple of years ago it was _three’s a crowd_. You hardly even looked at him. Then Nev got out of rehab, and whenever you and I were hanging out, it was suddenly _is Nev coming? What’s Nev up to today?”_ He paused, shook his head. “It never made sense to me, but I didn’t ask about it, mainly because I still felt like I had to walk on eggshells around Nev all the time. And then you left for Los Angeles, and it was like Nev was fucking _heartbroken_ or something.”

Max didn’t know what to say to that. He stood on the opposite side of the counter, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words. _His heart was never even mine to break,_ he wanted to shout, but instead, he was still, silent.

“The way he was after Megan- _Angela,_ ” Rel corrected himself as he continued, “that was nothing in comparison to how he was once you left. I was so confused. I couldn’t figure out why he seemed so depressed, so aimless, and then you were there waiting in our apartment that night, and I started to piece things together.”

None of it was true. Max knew it couldn’t have been, because he and Nev were never like that. They were friends, sure- the best of friends, more like, but that was all they’d ever been. Rel had to be exaggerating, because this whole accusation...it was absurd.

“Rel,” Max interrupted, “Rel, look at me.” He waited until his friend had met his eyes over the breakfast bar once more, and then spoke, slowly and pointedly. “I don’t know the reason behind Nev’s behavior, but I promise you, nothing ever happened between us. Not once. Maybe we’ve become a bit...freakishly codependent, but it’s not what you think, alright?” Max stopped, inhaled a long breath. “I would have told you otherwise. There’s no way I would keep something like that from you. Are you hearing me?”

Eventually, Rel nodded, and Max blew out an exhale of relief. He steadfastly chose to ignore the voice in his head that was nagging at him, _but you’ve had no trouble keeping Nev’s secret for all these years._ That hadn’t been the same thing. And as for his moving to Los Angeles- Max’s mind kept going back to the word _heartbroken_ , flitting around, attempting to make sense of this entire conversation.

Neither of them had noticed that the shower had stopped running, not until Nev was suddenly standing in the hallway in nothing but a pair of jeans, his oversized bare feet and hair-covered chest on display.

“Geez, you could cut the tension in here with a knife. Am I interrupting something?” he asked in greeting.

Max started in shock, but Rel was quick to recover. “Nope. Max and I were just debating the merits of the latest Sorkin screenplay,” he replied smoothly.

Suddenly extremely self-aware, Max busied himself with dumping his now-cold coffee down the drain and rinsing out his mug, very purposefully avoiding glancing in Nev’s direction. His brain was a mess of things- _heartbroken_ and _codependent_ and _friends_ and _are you fucking him?_ \- and it felt as though Nev could see every single thought, stamped straight onto the middle of his forehead.

“You know, I just remembered a meeting I had scheduled this morning,” he said hurriedly. “I should get going. I’ll catch up with you guys later?”

Max was already picking up his keys and phone and moving towards the door as he spoke, and Rel looked after him with knowing eyes. Nev, meanwhile, just seemed to be confused, his eyebrows furrowed and his gaze following Max across the apartment.

“Didn’t you just get here?” he questioned, and all Max could do was shrug as his fingers wrapped around the door handle.

“I’ll come back afterwards, just- I have to go. Sorry,” he muttered pathetically.

Rel never brought up the subject again, but he had successfully instilled the tiniest seed of doubt into Max’s mind, and soon, it was growing, snowballing out of control. Max was ten times more aware of every interaction between himself and Nev, from the words they exchanged to the most casual of touches. It _scared_ him, the possibility of either of them (especially himself) giving off the wrong signals. He began constantly asking himself things like _would I do this with any other friend_ or _has this hug been going on for too long_ and quickly enough, it started driving him crazy.

Nev caught on in no time at all, instantly noticing when Max distanced himself or seemed more hesitant than usual. It caused his expression to droop and his eyes to fill with question and Max absolutely hated that he was hurting Nev, but he didn’t know what else to do. It seemed like distance was the only option, no matter how much being away from Nev left a knot in his stomach and an ache in his chest.

( _Not normal,_ his brain screamed, and Max wanted to tell it to just _shut the fuck up._ )

By the time Rel and Henry announced that they’d finally set a premiere date for the documentary, it seemed like a lifetime had passed since Max had received the call from the diner in Ishpeming. Still, all of them had their fingers crossed that the film would be received well- they’d put so much time and effort in, and not only that, but Max couldn’t help viewing it as Nev having _suffered_ for this documentary. That was what it seemed like, anyway.

To say they weren’t expecting the attention _Catfish_ garnered would be an understatement. Saying that Rel and Henry and Nev and even Max were completely and utterly _blindsided_ by the public’s reaction was more accurate. Out of nowhere, Nev’s phone was ringing off the hook- and how these random people had managed to get his phone number, Max had no idea. But suddenly, there was a new person calling or texting or e-mailing every five minutes, telling them all about how similar Nev’s story was to their own- _online romance_ and _love_ and _lies,_ and was this actually Max’s life now? Watching Nev laugh or nod his head in understanding concern whenever someone new shared their life story had become commonplace. Rel and Henry and Nev were doing press tours, talk shows, interviews, and the attention continued to surge. It was surreal.

When the negative comments began to rise from the mountain of feedback, none of them thought anything of it. There was always someone wanting to criticize, and they’d all been expecting a few harsh reviews. But none of them were prepared for the accusations: _it was all fake._

_Why would these two guys start documenting the relationship so early on? Could a twenty-something with a proper education and what should be plenty of common sense really be so gullible? What kind of family had a sob story as intense as this one?_ and on and on and on.

Max wanted to punch something.

During interviews and conversations and things that would be visible to the general public, Nev would defend himself. _Love blinds you,_ he’d say. _When your heart takes control, you start to listen to it alone, and you tune out what your head has to say on the matter._ It made Max absolutely livid that Nev had to justify this to people he didn’t even know- had it not been obvious how infatuated Nev had been, and then how gutted he’d been when it all turned out to be a hoax?

“I hate this,” Nev had told him once. It was a Thursday night, and they were at Max’s place, some unnamed movie playing on the television in front of them. It was the first time in awhile that they’d been this close, with nothing to do but just _exist._ All of the niggling concern in the back of Max’s mind was still there, but it had quieted a bit, allowing him to simply enjoy being in Nev’s company. He was sprawled across most of the couch, head propped up on the armrest and legs outstretched until his socked feet were brushing Nev’s thigh. Meanwhile, Nev had Max’s laptop on his lap while he scrolled through e-mail after e-mail, all concerning the same thing.

“People are so quick to judge. Instead of seeing Angela and having some sense of empathy, they think, _god, look how pathetic that woman is,_ ” he went on. “Or they see me, and they go, _wow, that guy’s stupid. How do you fall for someone you’ve never even met?_ It’s all so far-fetched to them that they’d rather believe it’s made up than be forced to think more deeply and actually consider how people's feelings work.”

Max had stared at him closely, trying to decipher the emotions that were playing across Nev’s face in the dim glow coming from the computer. It was moments like these that brought back the nerves and the worry, the thought that, for as _fine_ as Nev appeared to be all the time, he was really just a time bomb, tick-tick-ticking away until all of it became too much and _boom._ He’d explode.

If or when it did happen, at least Max would be there. That was what he constantly reminded himself.

“You don’t have to justify it to me, you know,” Max had replied. He sat up a bit, pulling his legs in and straightening until he was seated sideways and cross-legged, facing Nev. “You don’t have to justify it to anyone.”

Nev finally glanced up from the laptop. “I don’t do it to defend myself,” he said quietly. “I do it for Rel. For Abby. For Angela.”

_Why are you so good?_ Max wanted to demand, grab Nev by the shoulders and just _shake. After everything, how are you still so untainted and **good?**_

Perhaps something had become visible on Max’s face, because then Nev was smiling at him, a bit wry, almost sad. Silently, he shut the laptop and placed it on the coffee table, then turned, tucking one foot up beneath himself and looking at Max head on.

“I know you think it’s stupid of me, to be so unconcerned for my own feelings,” Nev began, “but I’m not a little kid, Max. I can handle myself. And...I just think that if I’m always afraid of being hurt, I’ll miss out on too much. It’s not worth it to protect yourself to a point where you won’t let anyone in at all.”

He spoke pointedly, and Max didn’t miss the underlying message, the slight accusation- Nev was talking to him. _About_ him.

“There’s a difference between not preoccupying yourself with the worrying, and...ignoring it completely, essentially setting yourself up for the pain,” he protested faintly.

“Is that really how you view it?” Nev questioned. “You think I’m asking for it?”

Max shook his head, scrubbing at one side of his jaw with his fist. “That’s not-” he paused, sighed. “You’re too noble for your own good. You always have to be the white knight, the one to sacrifice himself. Most of the time, you don’t even know what you’re sacrificing yourself _for._ Maybe it makes you feel good, and you think you don’t mind, but I’ve always worried that deep down, you do. And that it’s screwing you up.”

Nev’s jaw clenched slightly as he tipped his head down, his gaze falling away. “Just because I’ve always been screwed up doesn’t been that other people have to be, too.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Max exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Nev, you...you can’t expect to fix anyone else until you really, truly fix yourself first.”

“I’ve spent over ten years trying to fix myself. And I’m _tired,_ ” Nev responded. “If this is as close as I can get to feeling good, better...then why not?”

_Because I actually want you to be happy. Genuinely happy._

“Besides,” Nev added, cutting off any words that had been forming on the back of Max’s tongue. “I don’t think you’re in any place to talk to me about how I feel when you just...refuse to feel anything.”

Max frowned. He picked at the hem of his sweatpants, at the thread that hung off and touched his left ankle. “That isn’t true.”

_I feel things that I shouldn’t and don’t want to feel. Things that I can’t even explain,_ he wanted to say, but instead his mind spun and spun and spun, back to _are you fucking him?_ and _like he was heartbroken_ and even further, all the way back to _I needed someone to believe in me._

_You always did._

“You run away from things,” Nev stated, and it wasn’t an accusation. It was simply a fact. “You ran away to Los Angeles. Then you came back and started avoiding me all over again. You’re afraid of getting too close.”

There were a million things Max could have replied, but the only thing that was real, _the truth,_ was something that even he wasn’t able to put words to. How was he supposed to tell Nev about the inexplicable hold he seemed to have on him?

_I’m already too close._

“When was the last time you were in love, Max?” Nev asked abruptly.

Max faltered. This was a trap, one to prove exactly Nev’s point, and the worst part was that Max didn’t even have an answer that could have helped him maneuver his way out of it.

There had been one girl- back when Max was eighteen and foolish, foolish enough to believe in petty lies and meaningless things like _always_ and _forever._ She had been outgoing and beautiful and everything that Max needed, and Max had still been good enough at the time, witty and intelligent and handsome, no sign of grey in his hair just yet. He had loved her with a kind of ferocity that only reared its head in first love, a passion and need and acceptance that was unmatched. He was going to marry her. At eighteen, it had seemed like such an inevitability. He’d felt it, known it with every bone in his body.

It wasn’t until he found her in bed with their Intro to Cinematography professor that all the fibers finally snapped. And Max snapped, too.

“I loved someone to the point where they could hurt me,” Max murmured, drifting out of his memories long enough to speak, “and then I told myself I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.”

He was still fiddling with the loose string that dangled from pant leg, winding it around his index finger, around and around and around, watching the tip of his finger go white as the blood circulation was cut off. Anything was better than having to look at Nev; Max could already picture the sympathy, and worse, the disappointment.

Disappointing Nev hurt worse than anything.

“Max,” Nev said quietly- so quietly, it was almost missable- and then his hand was breaching the distance between them, finding Max’s fingers and cautiously separating them from their death grip on the dark cotton. The thread slipped from Max’s grip and fluttered to the side, and all he could focus on was the hold Nev now had on his hand; the feather-light brush of fingertips along the inside of his palm, the way Nev’s thumb had settled against his wrist, pressing down just gently enough to yield the _thump_ of Max’s pulse.

Time had come to a grinding halt. Max’s heartbeat was deafening in his ears, and he swore he could hear the crackle of the blood through his veins, the bend of each muscle if he so much as shifted in the slightest. Every single one of his senses had come to a pinpointed spot, an exact center- all of the nerve ends in his body seemed to both begin and end where Nev was touching him.

It was too much. Everything with Nev was _always_ too much.

“I do feel things,” Max whispered, and pulled his hand away.

They never talked about that night.

Max hadn’t even known about the _Catfish_ pilot. It wasn’t until three months later (three more months of reverting back to casual avoidance and dwindling contact, and why had this thing with Nev become such a cycle?) that he finally found out from Rel, who’d called to share the news about the meeting with the MTV execs.

“He wants you there,” Rel told him over the phone. “He just won’t admit it because he’s stupidly stubborn. You two have that in common.”

So Max went. And when he stepped foot into that office behind Henry, the look on Nev’s face hit him square in the chest, barreling into him with astounding force. It was the same old story; Max ever seemed to realize how crucial a part of his life Nev was until after that Nev-shaped hole had been left gaping, only to be filled again. They kept doing this dance, tiptoeing around each other and trying to cut the infinite number of threads that had them so inevitably connected, and Max _knew_ that he was the one who was more at fault between the two of them, but it had been years and he just still couldn’t work out how to handle this. _Any_ of it.

He sat on the opposite end of the room, the endless stretch of wooden conference table between them. Men in suits were talking things like _full season_ and _cross-country traveling_ , but Max hardly comprehended a word. He found himself staring at Nev, which was nothing new; he stared at the many expressions that played out across his features and the shape of his mouth forming around words, and it was all comfortable, familiar, except that it wasn’t, because in those few minutes, Max suddenly came to a realization: that for ninety-nine percent of the time he spent focused on Nev, Nev was watching him right back.

Even as he participated in the conversation, his attention always came back around to Max, almost like a reflex. It left a warm weight in Max’s stomach, something like an encouragement, a sort of affirmation.

The execs were still talking, this time to Rel and Henry about production, but then Nev was speaking again, loud enough this time for Max to take notice.

“I’ve got one more condition,” he said, slowly pushing up the sleeve on his left arm, then his right. “I want Max with me. On the road. He can bring his camera, help capture the footage, something like that...I just want him there. He’s part of this, too.”

Max blinked. Everyone at the table was looking at him expectantly, waiting for his approval, but he just glanced across at Nev, silently asking him, _are you sure?_

Nev tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, the corners of his mouth tipping up. _Of course._

“Why me?” Max asked him, after the meeting had concluded and it was just the two of them slowly making their way down the hall to the elevator. “Why not Rel?” _Or anyone else, for that matter,_ he’d wanted to add.

Nev stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Why not you?” he shot back, half-joking, but Max knew better. He could tell that Nev meant it as an honest answer. Why not him? Did their always have to be an explanation?

Maybe that was it. With him and Nev, perhaps there never would be an explanation. Perhaps there didn’t need to be one.

They were on the road within a matter of weeks, flying down to Arkansas to start in on their first “case” (Nev already had a thing for calling it that, as if they were true detectives. Max begged to differ). The girl’s name was Sonny, and she was a cute, bubbly blonde who was desperately in love with a model-slash-television-assistant that had the looks of a guy who belonged in an Abercrombie ad. Nev took to her and her story immediately, his eyes twinkling at the mention of three-hour conversations and indescribable connections and _marriage._ It made Max a bit sick to his stomach. But he kept his mouth shut, held up the camera like he was supposed to, and followed along as they eventually discovered that, of course, Sonny hadn’t been talking to a man named “RJ King” at all.

The bits they caught on camera were the least devastating, if that was at all possible. After everything, Max hadn’t been expecting the fallout, Sonny screaming and crying and trying hopelessly to understand why someone would do this to her, while Nev uselessly attempted to comfort her. But the worst part- the part that dug itself into Max’s chest like a knife, carved him wide open- was afterwards, when he and Nev had retreated to their shared hotel room, and Nev just completely shut down.

It was obvious then: Nev had wanted it to be real, _believed_ it was real, just as much as Sonny had. The _I told you so_ was hot on the tip of Max’s tongue, but in that moment, he knew he couldn’t be that person, because this was the person he needed to be: the one to stitch Nev back together again. That was why Nev had wanted him here; because for some reason, Max was the only one who ever could.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this to yourself,” Max had murmured. They were squished onto one of the double beds, Max’s back propped against the headboard while Nev’s head rested in his lap, his eyes now closed out of exhaustion rather than staring off as the unseeing, blank figments they’d been only an hour earlier.

It was a futile argument and Max knew it. He distracted himself from his frustration by running his hand over Nev’s cropped hair, the short bristles tickling the inside of his palm. Nev sighed audibly, shifting onto his side until his cheek was pressed against Max’s thigh. His fingers tugged absently at the fraying patch of fabric by Max’s knee.

“This is worse because I know exactly how she’s feeling,” Nev said, ignoring Max’s statement completely. “It hurts so much. It’s not like regular heartbreak- at least there’s some reason with regular heartbreak, some truth, even when it’s just the foundation for lies. This- it’s all lies. It’s like you’ve dreamt the whole thing, and _that_ hurts the most, when none of it was real at all.”

They weren’t in New York. They weren’t in Ishpeming. They were in a hotel in Fayetteville  and there was a film crew two rooms over and a girl with a broken heart somewhere in a house nearby. Behind them was a burning trail of broken promises and wasted chances, the string of excuses that Max had fabricated in a worthless effort to protect himself. Yet despite all of it, the truth was abruptly crystal clear in Max’s mind.

His hand dropped from Nev’s head and fell limply to his side. There was a lump in his throat, and Max forced himself to swallow around it, trying to manage the words.

“This is real,” he finally whispered. “It’s been real the whole time.”

Nev’s eyes fluttered open and he immediately sat up, his face awash with a mixture of confusion and nervous disbelief, the emotions replacing the defeat that had been there only seconds before. His eyes were wide, the barest hint of a spark visible against the dark of his irises, and he suddenly moved so that he was kneeling in front of Max, leaving a matter of inches separating the two of them.

“Max?” he inquired. His tone was cautious, hopeful.

“It’s so real that it terrifies me,” Max went on quietly. “It terrified me into trying to get away, but every time, I kept coming back.”

Nev was looking at him. There were dark circles beneath his eyes and his gaze was undeniably bloodshot, but he still had that glow, the one that seemed to flicker but never die out. The same glow that had wrapped Max up in the first place. To him, that glow felt an awful lot like the word _home._

“I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you since the night you bailed on rehab and slept on my couch,” he told Nev.

Max had barely uttered the words before a pair of hands was framing his face, the rough skin of Nev’s palms grazing across his stubble while his fingers cupped Max’s jaw. Max huffed out a startled laugh, his head tipping back slightly and his eyelids fluttering as Nev leaned forward to hover over him. They gazed carefully at one another, breaths passing in the small space between them. Max’s heart thundered away in his chest, but for once, it was a reassuring thump, one that told him, _it’s okay for you to feel this._

Nev lowered his face until their foreheads were touching, and then he was grinning, two rows of perfect white teeth on full display. Max nearly had to go cross eyed to see it, but still he was smiling too, laughing a bit helplessly as Nev’s thumbs traced the lines of his cheekbones.

“Don’t know why you tried to ignore it for so long,” Nev teased gently, and it was as though the entire day melted away beneath them, along with the last few months and the last few years and everything else that had ever weighed down on their shoulders. “Even Rel figured it out before you did.”

“You knew about that?” Max asked in surprise.

Nev nodded as much as their current position would allow, his nose brushing Max’s in the process. “The shower in the apartment isn’t that loud,” he replied.

As much as Max was enjoying this, the banter, he knew that there were important questions, ones that they couldn’t just shove under the rug anymore, that had to be answered. So with Nev’s body caging him loosely against the headboard, Max forced himself to ask, “are you going to be able to do this show, Nev?”

The smile on Nev’s face faltered slightly, and Max instantly reached out to place a reassuring hand on his hip, the warmth of Nev’s skin bleeding through the cotton of his t-shirt. He squeezed gently, an _I’m here_ and a _be honest with me_ both conveyed through the touch. Nev exhaled a breath that Max could feel gust over his cheek, and he shut his eyes, waiting patiently for an answer.

“You’ll keep me grounded,” Nev eventually told him. His voice was hushed, and when Max opened his eyes again, Nev was looking at him, warm and steady and sure. “We balance each other out, right?”

A beat passed. “Don’t really know how, but...yeah, I guess we do,” Max agreed softly.

Nev’s lips quirked up, and then he pressed forward, tucking their noses together in the most cliche, dorky move Max had ever witnessed. He breathed out another laugh before Nev caught his chin between his thumb and forefinger, effectively silencing him as their mouths drifted infinitesimally closer.

“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s acceptable,” Nev said. He touched the pad of his thumb to the edge of Max’s bottom lip, and Max definitely did not tremble at the motion. That would have been ridiculous.

“Just quit your blathering and get on with it,” he demanded. Nev raised an eyebrow, but then his mouth was covering Max’s own, and that was that, really.

They still had their issues. They were both still flawed and grappling over some insurmountable obstacle, just trying their best to keep going, but at least now they could keep going as _Nev and Max._ Two pieces of an inevitable whole. No explanation needed.


End file.
